Sometimes, in the trenches, you get the sense of something, ancient. One trench we held, it had skulls in the side, embedded, like mushrooms. It was actually easier to believe they were men from Marlborough's army, than to think they'd been alive a year ago. It was as if all the other wars had distilled themselves into this war, and that made it something you almost can't challenge. It's like a very deep voice, saying; 'Run along, little man, be glad you've survived
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the weight of history and the profound impact of war on humanity.
In this passage, Pat Barker conveys the haunting presence of the past within the realities of battle. The imagery of skulls embedded in the trench symbolizes the enduring legacy of previous conflicts, suggesting that the historical burdens of war are inescapable and contribute to the intensity and inevitability of the current struggle. The reference to an ancient voice reminds us of the timeless nature of conflict and the psychological toll it takes on those who endure it.
In practice
In a discussion about the psychological impacts of war during a veterans' group meeting.
We are Craiglockhart's success stories. Look at us. We don't remember, we don't feel, we don't think - at least beyond the confines of what's needed to do the job. By any proper civilized standard (but what does that mean now?) we are objects of horror. But our nerves are completely steady. And we are still alive.
We come across thirty or so hurried graves with makeshift wooden markers. 'Private Edwards, E.', a number, and that was all. Fourteen days ago he was alive, thinking feeling, hoping... If war was a game of cards, I'd say someone was cheating.
It is important to emphasize that guerrilla warfare is a war of the masses, a war of the people. The guerrilla band is an armed nucleus, the fighting vanguard of the people. It draws its great force from the mass of the people themselves.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; _x000D_ _x000D_ And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds _x000D_ _x000D_ To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, _x000D_ _x000D_ He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber _x000D_ _x000D_ To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Twenty-first century war adds new risks: more and more often there are no front lines, no central command, no rules of engagement - only a chaotic collision of politics, power, faith and bloodlust. Victims are as likely to be civilians as soldiers.
A true war story is never moral.
The young bloods of the South: sons of planters, lawyers about towns, good billiard-players and sportsmen, men who never did any work and never will... They are splendid riders, first-rate shots and utterly reckless. These men must all be killed or employed by us before we can hope for peace.
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